


Icy Blues.

by LachrymoseLake



Series: Green Eyes. [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Chapter re-write, F/F, First Meetings, Heda Lexa (The 100), Mates, alternative POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 09:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LachrymoseLake/pseuds/LachrymoseLake
Summary: A different take on the proceeding before Her With Those Green Eyes-Among the general din of the village: the clacks, grunts and growls of the training field; the ting ting ting of the metalworker and low grumble of the weavers murmuring together- even children laughing, though that was rare and far between, filtered in through her tent flaps.That, and the urgent footsteps of someone running.





	Icy Blues.

**Author's Note:**

> haven't posted in a while- thought I'd change that with a quick type up. It isn't polished or well done, but ya know when you just feel like posting? Yeeeah, this is one of those times.
> 
> Hope everyone's having an amazing week and thanks for rea

The black ink gathered, drew heavy, and then fell from the tip of Lexa’s quill, staining the pristine map. The ink’s edge seeped into the porous material, devouring the land displayed ravenously, spreading far beyond what Lexa had intended. Not that she intended to stain the map at all. Hurriedly dropping the unused quill into a little jar of exotic ink, wrestled from the jaws of fierce water monsters that dwelt in the great western sea, Lexa gentle began dabbing the still fresh stain with a rag. She bit her lip, careful not to press the dye deeper into the map, but trying to suck up the thick blackness.

Focused emerald eyes strayed from her task, wandering over her territories, the marks of skillfully drawn trees and rivers, the swell of a lake and the solid lines of villages and towns strewn across her sprawling land. Thoughtful eyes, always thinking and planning, thoughtful eyes turned hard, jaw clenching as she placed a finger on the odd little shape etched into the paper: Skaikru. Their craft of metal and wire so like to the Mountain Men that it left her men uneasy, itching to dispatch the all too real threat. But no, no there would not be any slaughter, not unprovoked, not unneeded. 

Dropping the used rag to her table, Lexa pushed away from her maps and scrolls. She cracked her neck, rolled a shoulder and quietly poured herself a cup of sweet wine.

The rider should have reported by now, the warriors stationed around the sky people having sent daily updates. No movement, nothing more than some pitiful attempts at hunting and water runs. It was as if, almost, the young Skykru were unaware of the watching eyes on them from the shadows, from the trees. But of course, Lexa had ordered her men to make themselves known, obvious- not to slink and hide like guilty creatures wary of the light. They  _ must  _ know they were under watch, under guard. The spear pinned to one of the trees just outside the founding camp must have made sure of that. It must have.

With a silent sigh, Lexa moved to slice a thin slab of pear from her late breakfast plate, pausing when a wanting growl echoed against her temples. There was an all too familiar ache in her throat. She picked up the slice of slow-roasted venison, teeth tearing through flesh and letting the savoury taste sooth the hunger of her wolf.

_ Settle.  _ The anxious energy writhing in her chest gave one final snarl before calming, not gone, but lying dormant and ready. 

Among the general din of the village, the clacks and grunts and growls of the training field, the ting ting ting of the metalworker and weavers murmuring together. Even children laughing, though that was rare and far between, filtered in through her tent flaps. That, and the urgent footsteps of someone running. It was almost indistinguishable from the general sound of Trikru life, but the sense of urgency, of  _ need,  _ set it apart. By the time the young, scrawny (for warrior standards) man breathlessly pleaded admittance from the guard, Lexa was composed, stony,  _ Heda.  _

His face, barely reddened by his run, was immediately turned away. Shoulders loose and body relaxed out of respect, in  _ submission.  _ His words were spoken to the corner, where tent met earth, flint grey eyes not even glancing at Lexa out of curiosity.

“Coming from the Skaikru’s camp! Heda, someone tried to breach the boundaries; they are coming.” Quietly, with only a flick of her wrist, the lithe youth was dismissed.

_ Skaikru. _

Lexa looked over her map, at the small workings of the quill that made the alien craft, captured its likeness on paper as an uncertainty, a threat. As something to move against, to deal with. To irradicate if the children of that craft did not fall into line as they should.

Reaching for the sheathed sword that rested against the table, Lexa snapped in into place at her side, swinging from her well-made belt. She tightened her shoulder guard, even if the Coalition wasn’t at all-out war with the Skikru, they still posed a threat, and so becoming wear of steel and leather was ordinary, even in the safety of the village.

The worries for the future, the doubts about the present and the grief of the past. It was all left behind Lexa as she strode through the tent flap, expecting the waxed leather to part before. Naturally, it did. As she stepped into the noon sunlight, she was Heda: Cold, brutal, stoic- the very best of her people. She had no prejudice, no biases, only the desire for her people to thrive. She was the epitome of survival. 

Her people were restless, Heda noticed. They grouped together in three’s and four’s, eyes flicking between each other and the village gate. If Heda were made to speak on the matter, not that anyone would  _ dare  _ force her, she would say her people were  _ angry.  _ They must have heard who had been captured. 

It seemed, even though the runner that announced the impending arrival of the captive was respectful, they hadn’t learnt yet to hold their tongue. She would have that seen to, swiftly and sternly.

Flat green eyes followed the glances of her people to the gate where guards stood watch as a small group made their way towards Heda. Five of her warriors walked close together, their postures stiff and coiled, hands glued to the hilts of their weapons and those without hands at the moment had teeth bared and paw-steps soundless. Once they entered the relative safety of the village, the five guards scattered, melting away into the groups of Trikru that loitered at the edge of the path. What was left was a solitary man leading a bound girl by a rope that wrapped tightly around her wrists. 

Gustus walked with his head held high, stride confident and uncaring of the pace that left his prisoner stumbling over herself. Heda’s favourite and most trusted guard lead his prize through the village, the eyes of everyone, old and young, fighters and weavers, on him. On them. 

Heda moved to the edge of the village clearing, her personal guards shadowing her. She stood tall, straight-backed and still as she watched. Watched everything; from her people, to the skies, to what was visible of the forests outside the walls, to Gustus and the ski girl. Now that Gustus was closer, she could make out more of the captive.

They had dirty blonde hair, leaves threaded through tresses and twigs lodged in her shirt. Mud was smeared on fabric, across pale skin and it looked to have dried and cracked against her flesh. She looked like a cub who had spent the day playing by the river, hinting fireflies and stalking rabbits; ruffled, disgruntled and thoroughly exhausted. She had most likely tried to outrun Heda’s lookouts and had suffered the consequences. 

There was a murmur, of voices and cloth as people shuffled. An air of unrest stirred, of anger and action. Heda’s people didn’t press in, didn’t try to beat and brutalise the representation of the thing that had crashed in their land, had shattered the five years of peace and tranquillity and made the men and women take up arms. They wouldn’t dare, not with Heda’s watchful eye on them. But Heda could see that they wanted to.

Someone drew up beside her, their spiked ear nearly touching Heda’s elbow. Indra didn’t need to announce her presence, the war chief more than recognisable simply by smell: her scent an earthy one of pine and burnt ash. She, like the rest of the village, stood tense, controlled. But unlike Heda, her control wasn’t one of indefinite patience, more a tension running out of time, almost bursting free. In short, Indra felt dangerous. She was bordering on feral. But then, she always did; it came with the territory of her job; it was what made her indispensable. 

Gustus coming to a respectful stop put an end to Heda’s internal contemplation. Brown eyes lowered in an otherwise proud stance, and a firm snap of the rope had the girl sprawling to the ground, knees digging into the dirt and bound arms pressed flat, leaving her on all fours. Heda noted the girl's quietness, how she took the surprise fall in stride yet made no effort to right herself or to lash out.

Interesting. She was smart enough not to push Gustus’ relative good-will, yet self-possessed enough not to make a noise. Or the girl's will was simply broken.

“_Heda, this Skaikru was found a league north of the Stoney Brook marker, outside the set border. It fled from us when we announced ourselves, and it had slain a beast on our land, the body torn apart by a knife that was taken. It didn't run far, nor fast. We easily took it. There was nothing to suggest any other skylings have gone against your command.'_ Gustus' harsh voice died, and the murmurs of the people filled the air before silence could find its peace. Outrage, disbelief, unease. It was easy to feel it as he people shuffled, but Heda dismissed the common opinion, cocking an eyebrow at Indra, welcoming her input before she made a decision.

A single growl, low and deadly was all Indra had to offer, her frame vibrating as her eyes stayed locked doggedly on the prostate captive. One of Indra's ears flicked as Heda hummed dryly. No emotion leaked through the blank mask of Heda's face as she took a half step forward, immediately commanding the attention of the whole village. What little commotion stopped, what little speech stopped. Breathing, only, filled the space.

Heda let the silence settle, turning over the situation, Indra's suggestion dancing at the tips of her fingers as she tapped a soundless pattern on her pommel. Logically, _lawfully,_ she should kill the one who broke her blockade, and she knew it. Her men did, too. They shuffled, Gustus rested her hand on the hilt of his sword and Indra seemed to almost buzz with energy. 

Heda gripped the handle of her blade, inching it open as she takes another step closer. Without being asked, Gustus tugs the rope, prompting the prisoner to lift her head.

The glare is icy blue, piercing in a way Lexa had ever seen. First, it was directed definitely at Gustus’ back; then, when Heda took a step forward, blade leaving its sheath with a soft hiss, they bore into Heda’s. Green met blue, and everything just... _changed_.  Something awoke in Lexa, swirling, tugging, demanding she step closer. Go closer. Gather the girl dirtied by earth and man and never let her go.

Heda stepped forward, the girl didn’t flinch, didn’t cower- simply glowered, blue eyes stoney and flashing. 

The people of the village grew still, grew silent, waiting for the was that was inevitable. 

Heda raised her sword, face stern. She knew she must strike an imposing figure, stood with blade glinting in the high strung sun, skin bronzed and scarred.

The captive didn’t flinch. Only clenching her jaw, squaring her shoulders: ready for her end.

Heda stared into those eyes, her insides writhing, revolting at the idea of ending the one she’s been looking for since she first drew breath. Her fingers pulsed around the hilt, squeezing and relaxing in indecision. The silence was ringing, defending. All eyes were on Heda, all eyes waiting for the final word, the final action that would start a war with the Skaikru for their crimes.

As Heda, it was her responsibility to be the stern hand of justice, to do what was right for her people, to spill blood, so her’s didn’t need to. But as… as a  _ mate,  _ it was her job to protect her own, her one. It was against everything the beast shuddering in her chest wanted her to do — the thing with its piercing calls ringing in her head, its anger burning in her veins. 

  
She had to choose, her duty to the Flame, to her people; her duty to her mate, her destined. Her blade would find flesh, trigger a war, wipe out the lingering threat, or it would not. Or those defiant blue eyes would live on.

The blade swung, slicing through the air with a silent whistle.

Blue eyes widened, breath gasped.

Rope fell to the earth, cut clean and close enough to the prisoner for the loops and twists that had held her hands together to uncoil slowly.

Blue eyes didn’t stray from Heda’s, didn’t even as whispers and growls flickered to life, as Heda’s sword hung at her side, hand relaxed as she motioned for Gustus to wrap large hands around the prisoner's elbows and hoist her to her feet.

Indra growled beside Heda, paw inching forward.

Heda didn’t even blink before she twitched her wrist. The shining blade of her weapon scored the ground, millimetres in front of Indra’s nose. It stopped the black wolf in her tracks, cowing her to step back: head lowered, ears flat.  Heda left her sword there, quivering faintly as she shucked the majority of her armour without a word. It landed in a metallic heap, leaving her feeling lighter and bare, but no less powerful.

The wolf in her grumbled, shoving at the inside of her chest and making neigh on impossible to not take a step forward. Closing her eyes, Heda reached within herself, opening something in her as she almost grasped the wolf and  _ pulled  _ it out. Drawing it until fur rippled over Heda’s skin, her bones cracked and shattered and knit back together. She fell forward until all four paws were on the ground, her vision dropped by a foot and her fur fluffed as she shook herself out.

In this body, this form, Heda felt herself slipping. She felt herself wanting to rush forward, like before, but now she almost couldn’t help herself. The girl was just  _ there.  _ Eyes wide, mouth slightly agape and hands-free of binds. The wolf was simply  _ stronger  _ when it was out; it wanted more and deeper. It was more primal and more driven by instinct, not the obligation to the people.

Walking by the girl without stopping, without touching her, was one of the hardest things Heda had ever done. She felt the people around her shift, Indra following and Gustus too, but she growled low and dangerous, glancing over her shoulder at her guard and rumbling her distaste. An easy flick of her tail and Gustus was pressing the girl forward, urging her to follow his commander. 

Heda met the girl’s striking gaze, one ear twitching as she tried not to turn around and approach her, to scent along the girl’s skin and nip at her neck. Simply to drown herself in her mate.

She didn’t.

She couldn’t, not yet.

So she turned and walked into the forest, away from the eyes of her people with her mate following.

The cultivated land of the village quickly disappeared as they left the boundaries, venturing under the emerald leaves. Heda walked expertly between trunks, walking the tracks she often had trod. The scent of the forest, earthy and fresh, enveloped Heda, cleansing her senses until it was all she could smell. That, and her mate.

They were alone.

Lexa stepped with her wolf, a destination in mind. Her wolf grumbled, huffed about walking so far, so far when the thing both it and Lexa needed was _just _behind them. It gave in though, fight barely worthy of such a title as it shook Lexa away, enjoying the needles under its paws, the sun in its fur. Never once did it stop scanning the undergrowth, protective instinct thin and heavy on its spin as it kept an ear flicked back to the human who trialled resistantly behind.

It wasn't long before the trees thinned, the bushes rose up, and the land slopped ever so slightly. An excitement, Lexa's or the wolf's it wasn't clear, it didn't matter, started brewing as the first scents of fresh grass, blooming bluebells and running water drifted to Lexa's nose. Steps grew quicker, barely, leaves brushed against their face as they ducked around a brackish bush and there-

Lush green grass cast emerald under the sun's proud blaze, flowers sprinkled in every inch. Finally, Lexa could breathe. COuld breathe and let the wolf completely take-

They fumbled face-first into the grass, paws of a killer turning into the uncontrolled feet of a pup as the wolf washed the smokey scents of the village from its fur int he fragrant earth. Wriggling around, completely undignified, Lexa let herself sit back, let herself enjoy it as her wolf did as it pleased. It was only when the wolf glanced up at the edge of the clearing, where their human stood, did the two beings in one body come together completely. Together in the double thump of their heart, in the simmering of excitement, in the childlike joy. 

At that moment, looking at a battered blonde-haired thing of a mate, they were one. 


End file.
